A Kingslayer's Tale
by direwolfkid294
Summary: The Sack of King's Landing from Jaime's perspective...mostly follows canon until the end. All credits for quotes etc. from canon go to GRRM.
1. Part I

From the Tower of the Hand, Jaime Lannister watched the chaos unfold.

 _Father is sacking the city_ , Jaime thought to himself. _Just as I predicted...and Varys too, of course_. Jaime failed to recall a time where the Master of Whisperers had ever been wrong about anything. He could hear the distant but audible sounds of a coming battle. Horses feet, the marching of men, and a far away scream. Thousands of Lannister soldiers were pouring in through the Lion's Gate, beginning their sweep through the streets. _It's hard not to feel guilty, scores of commonborn are like to die today while I sit behind these castle walls._

 _All just for that damned iron chair._

 _You need to get to work_ , Jaime thought. He forced himself to look down from the window at the ink, quill, and pieces of paper laid out in front of him. As the last remaining Kingsguard in King's Landing, he was charged with the defense of the Red Keep. Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jonother Darry had all been killed at the Trident. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower were all in the south doing gods know what. Well, there had been rumors that Barristan the Bold had lived, but was injured and dying, Jaime did not know for sure. _Nobody tells me anything_ , he thought angrily. _I'm one of the most important men in this city as of now and they still treat me like a child. Only thing for certain is Aerys is as mad as they say he is._

 _And the fact this battle is just getting worse...for the dragons that is._

Since he'd come to the Tower to make some type of battle plan, Lannister men were spreading all throughout the western half of the city. A small number were engaging in combat with the City Watch and other Targaryen loyalists, but the majority were riding uncontested through the streets. Looting, raping, murdering, most likely. It could be the only reason why so many would be screaming and running like rats away from the fighting, toward the Keep. _Why did I even bother to come here? I'm no battle commander, no savior of the city. I am a Lion of the Rock, at my best only when fighting or making love...to Cersei preferably._ _I came here to get away from Aerys, that insane fool._ It had been clear from the start that the defenders of King's Landing were hopelessly outnumbered, and it was just a matter of time before the lion's men were at the foot of Aegon's High Hill.

 _The battle was lost when the king was stupid enough to trust my father._

However, Jaime could not go back to King Aerys empty handed, and say outright it was over. He'd have his head on a - no, Aerys would burn him alive in the second he'd heard the words. _Another way_ , he thought. _Through writing? Yes, a message!_ Jaime quickly grabbed the ink and quill, starting to think about what to write...he pried his mind. It had never been a talent of his. Rather unpleasant memories began to return of the endless hours and hours it had taken for his father, Lord Tywin, to teach him to read and write. The letters had always seemed upside down, sideways, misshapen, strange. But he had learned, eventually. Grudgingly. _Words of any worth are always best communicated through speaking_ ; Jaime had decided then.

As well as this very moment.

He then stood up and strolled quickly out the Hand's solar, looking for a messenger to send to the king. Jaime's request would be simple, asking Aerys for leave to make terms with the attackers. _That way, innocents will stop dying. That way, maybe I won't die. That way, at least most of us will live._ He shuddered, the disturbing thought at the back of his mind, he tried to keep it shut away. He was trying to remain hopeful in a hopeless situation. _Aerys won't listen, you know it. He'd see this city burned to the ground if it meant him becoming a dragon._

Aerys had dismissed most of the Small Council for their failure to see the Lannisters would sack the city. But as usual, he kept Jaime close, as he had been the one thing which had kept Lord Tywin loyal to the crown. He'd also retained Rossart, his Grand Master of Alchemists now Hand of the King. It was Rossart who's expertise on wildfire helped feed Aerys' sick obsession. He seemed to be the only man who enjoyed advising him. _When Aerys realizes me, probably one of the last men he trusts, has given up, he's like to give Rossart the command to ignite the wildfire. I doubt Ross will disobey, he's just as addicted to wildfire as the king himself. And we'll all burn. Men, women, and children alike, all dead. And in Aerys' demented mind, he'll win the whole war._ It was all starting to fall into place.

 _I'll have to kill Rossart...all of the pyromancers..._

 _And then Aerys Targaryen himself._

It was an incredible, shocking resolution. A treasonous one. To kill the king one has sworn to protect. But the only alternative was the whole city being consumed in flames. It would be better for a few to die rather than many. _The wildfire is everywhere, from the brothels to the markets and the tunnels under the Sept._ Jaime had heard the word "random" used more than once concerning the placement of the green substance.

 _One spark, and we all die._

 _It will not be easy_ , thought Jaime. _I need to get the situation in the throne room, is it empty? Are their soldiers inside, so loyal that they're willing to defend their psychotic king?_ As Jaime pondered and pondered, he had exited the Tower of the Hand and come out into the early afternoon sunlight. A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, dragging a wheeled cart filled with various fruits. Jaime knew his face.

 _One of Rossart's messengers, thank the Gods._

He was heavily bearded but modestly dressed, and was quick to notice Jaime shining in his golden armor and white cloak. "Good day ser," he said, nodding respectfully. "Is there any news on the progress of the battle?"

 _He'll have to do_ , Jaime decided.

"I will tell you, on the condition you deliver a message to King Aerys for me," Jaime said, his voice calm but firm.

"That can be done. I'd do anything, just please, let me inside Maegor's Holdfast. It is the safest place!" His dark brown eyes were laced with fear. _He wants shelter_ , thought Jaime. _Understandable_.

"Alright, if you deliver this message."

"What is this message?"

"Just a word to His Grace. Tell him Jaime Lannister has decided the best course of action is to make peace with the attackers, whatever that may be."

The man again looked afraid, but he swallowed down his fear. "I will do as bid. Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all. Return to me as soon as you can."

The messenger nodded and sped off, his pace increased. _It would help if I knew who else was in the throne room_. But in that second, Jaime kept quiet. He could not be sure of this man's loyalties. _With Father sacking the city and closing in, Aerys is probably so paranoid he'll turn his soldiers against me._ Jaime never liked having to think through his actions, the endless maze of court politics. Yet as of now, his decisions not only meant the difference between his own life or death, but the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents. As well as the king. _Just to think of killing the man I am sworn to protect. What have I become?_

It was a lot of weight to put on a seventeen year old's shoulders.

He re-entered the Tower of the Hand and climbed all the way back up the steps, to make it seem like he was hard at work. _To the seven hells with surrender terms, my father sealed hundreds in a mine and left them to die._ _It's like Princess Elia and her children will suffer a similar fate._ Again, he was deep in thought and staring out the window. The city was now an even more chaotic pit of battle, the sounds of war becoming more prominent by the minute.

Then, a knock on the door.

Jaime gulped. It could very well be Rossart, Jaime was in his solar, after all. He would have to kill him, there was no other choice.

"Who's there?" Jaime's voice was tense.

"A message from the king," the messenger's voice responded. He had returned!

Jaime opened the door a crack, and it was indeed just the messenger, alone. He exhaled and opened it completely. The dark eyed man nodded respectfully, and spoke. "His Grace...commands you to bring him your father's head, to prove you are no traitor."

It was all Jaime could do to keep a straight face.

 _He wants me to kill my lord father. The man who raised me since I was an infant. A stern, hard man, but my father nonetheless. Aerys wants me to decapitate him. To forsake my family for my vows to a_ _madman._ Jaime struggled to hide the look of disgust on his face. Yet he composed himself and held his tongue, like he always had. The messenger continued to speak, "His Grace also commands you to help defend the Red Keep at all costs, he will not tolerate any surrender. He is alone with Rossart, Hand of the King, in the throne room, and every man is needed."

Jaime's heartbeat doubled, as he made the terrible realization. _That could only mean one thing. Aerys is actually going to do it. He is actually going to command the destruction of the city._

 _If he hasn't already._

 _I have to act. Now._


	2. Part II

Jaime found himself bursting into a run, almost unconsciously, toward the throne room, also known as the Great Hall, which held the Iron Throne. "Stop!" the messenger called. "May I be let in the Holdfast now?! Please, _stop_!"

But Jaime barely heard the man's pleading. Now sprinting, he dashed over the small bridge which connected the Tower of the Hand to kitchens of the Small Hall. The kitchens had been completely ransacked, all of the food taken from cupboards and shelves. He almost slipped and fell due to some slippery substance, but kept his feet and pace. _Nothing can stop me. Nothing will stop me from getting my hands on those evil men and tearing the life right out of them._

The kitchens lead to the Small Hall itself, a modest room which could accompany at best a hundred guests. At first glance, it was completely empty. Then, Jaime saw a young lowborn woman sitting on a table with a babe at her breast. The babe was crying, almost aware of what was to come. "Ser!" The woman called after him. "The soldiers are nearing the gates! Do something!"

 _I am doing something._

Like the messenger, Jaime left the woman behind to be taken by destiny, whatever that was. He found the door which lead under the wall that divided the Keep in two. Jaime then was outside again, in the outer courtyard. Here, he saw the woman was right, Lannister men had to be close. There was a small collection of archers at the battlements, firing to the streets below. None paid mind to him. He could hear the sound of clashing metal and screams of pain from beyond the walls. _It won't be long._

"Heave!"

A communal yell came from…also beyond the walls. It was the main gate to the Red Keep, which was being smacked with a battering ram. There were two bronze doors on either side of the gate, with a portcullis in between. _If that's their plan, they'll be there all day._ Just as Jaime turned the corner to enter the Great Hall, it burst open. A man dressed as a common soldier came strolling out, shuffling quickly on his feet. Jaime almost passed him, not paying mind. Almost.

Until he took a second look.

The short brown hair, pinpoint green eyes, mousy nose, and the strange hobble could only be one person. _Rossart._ He kept his head down and his strides determined. He was heading to a postern gate, about a hundred yards from the portcullis. Jaime took after him, cutting him off just as he got to the gate. He looked around one more time. _Nobody watching? Good, nobody will see._

"Ser Jaime, I hope you're not trying to desert our cause!" said the Hand, he had a bright smile. "His Grace wants you back in the throne room, you best not leave his side again!"

Jaime took a deep breath, doing his best to mask the fear inside of him. He looked deep into Rossart's eyes, almost to his soul. His tone was flat.

"Where are you going?"

Rossart's smile faded, sensing there was something wrong. Very wrong.

"On the king's business, Ser," Rossart's voice was now ice cold. "Now step aside and let me past."

As Rossart attempted to move beside Jaime and through the gate, he again was stopped. _I cannot let you do that._

Jaime drew his sword as quick as a snake, giving the Hand of the King barely enough time to react to what was about to happen. Rossart's jaw dropped in horror, realizing what was coming. For an instant, Jaime regretted it. Just for an instant. _I am about to murder a defenseless man._ Jaime had crossed swords once, with the Smiling Knight, but had never killed a man. _Wrong. This man has a defense, an endless supply of wildfire. Think of Rickard Stark, burned alive. Think of all Aerys' victims, partially because of the man standing in front of you right now._ Jaime flamed with anger and hatred, providing both the motivation and momentum for a savage downward cut aimed straight for Rossart's gut.

A messy and lethal blow.

Jaime had cut the man open from the breast to below the navel, blood pouring out almost like a waterfall. All Rossart could do was gasp before he passed out from the shock and pain. The blood was a very dark red, almost blue. He made another two slashes at his stomach and throat to finish him off. And it was done. Half, the battle, won.

But just half the battle.

 _I should not look._ Yet he just had to look, to process what he'd just done. Jaime immediately got a strange feeling in his stomach, like it was tightening. The man's eyes were still wide open, empty. He almost felt as if he was going to vomit, but the bile went back down his throat before it became a serious problem. He tried to breath deep. _I killed someone. I took a man's life._

Jaime sighed, a long deep sigh.

He walked slowly, as his mind felt like it had been cooked a little. It's not like he hadn't seen men die before. It almost always happened at tournaments, and at the clash with the Kingswood Brotherhood, several had been killed. Killing a man, however, was something entirely different. He struggled to shake the sick feeling deep inside of him.

"Heave!"

It was the yell from the men handling the battering ram which shocked Jaime back to reality. He looked back up to the battlements, to see if there were any more loyalists fighting. Most of them were dead now, arrows through their hearts.

He quickened his pace, and opened the great doors to the Great Hall.

King Aerys was entirely alone in the room, except for the dragon skulls and some flaming torches. He paced back and forth in front of the Iron Throne. The king was talking to himself, loudly and angrily. His dark blue eyes, wild and feral, looked up to meet Jaime as he walked briskly across the hall.

"Jaime! They're traitors, all of them! The traitors want my city, but I'll give them naught but ashes! Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat," Aerys hissed, and then he coughed. A nasty, snot filled cough. He spat it out.

"My Lord Hand is about to give these traitors a warm welcome!"

He then cackled, an evil sickening laugh. _He's like a witch, just like the stories I heard as a child._ After a moment, Aerys' smile left his face, and he gave Jaime a deathly glare which almost made him shiver. He looked more like a man of Flea Bottom then nobility. His smell was atrocious; he probably hadn't bathed in weeks. His hair and beard were dirty and unkempt.

"I thought I commanded you to bring me your lord father's head! I want him dead, that traitor, you'll bring me his head or you'll burn with all the rest!"

With that, Jaime felt something inside himself snap.

 _I may have sworn my life to this man one day. But not anymore. I forsake my vows to this Mad King. I will now give him to the dirt._ As if on cue, Jaime noticed Aerys was staring at him, with a wild, hellish gaze. He was looking down at something. "Whose blood is that on your sword?"

At that moment, Jaime realized he'd forgotten to sheathe his sword. He was still holding the thing, stained with Rossart's blood. _I guess it doesn't matter anymore._ Far away, Jaime could hear voices and the clashing of steel. _They're just outside the hall._

"Whose blood?!" Aerys asked again. _Does it matter anymore?_

"Rossart's." Jaime's voice was emotionless and plain, just like it had been before he'd gutted the Hand of the King. _I feel like I'm going insane myself._

Jaime thought Aerys' eyes couldn't get any wider, but they went from dinner plates to sept bells. He tried to run from Jaime, to the Iron Throne. It was a crooked hobble, not too unlike Rossart's way of running. Aerys was moaning, saying something…

"Burn them all…burn them all…BURN THEM ALL!"

It also seemed Aerys had peed himself, large drips of liquid coming out from under his robes. _The king has pissed himself, a man of his stature should die with at least some dignity._

 _No, this man does not deserve any dignity._

Jaime caught up to him as he was climbing the steps to the throne, as if sitting on the chair would protect him from Jaime's wrath. But he was not quick enough. Jaime grabbed him by the shoulder three steps up, turning him around to face the sword. Like Rossart's lethal wound, the cut was swift and deep. A rivulet of blood streamed out from his neck.

And Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, collapsed onto the floor, dying.

The dragon head crown of Aegon the Unworthy fell off of Aerys' head as he tumbled down, clattering as it hit the floor.


	3. Part III

For a long moment, Jaime just watched. The red liquid which had once given Aerys Targaryen life now gave him to the grave, drowning him in its maroon depths. It was almost entrancing, in a sickening way, to watch the life quite literally pour out of someone. The fighting outside the Great Hall was louder now, the slamming of steel and a loud panicking neigh of a horse.

 _I need to get out of this place…before someone sees Aerys' own Kingsguard slaughtered him._

 _I killed my king. For a worthy cause, maybe. But a grave crime nonetheless._ Like in the Tower of the Hand almost an hour earlier, Jaime was completely lost in his thoughts. His mind spattered in all directions. _Will Robert execute me for forsaking my vows? But the wildfire…I saved the city!_ He felt like he was in a sick game of tug the rope, with him being the pour soul being torn apart. Just as he centered himself a bit, to plan a quick escape, the doors to the throne room burst open wide.

Jaime's blood went cold.

 _The loyalists are retreating, I think. They'll see what I've done and send me to death right behind the king. I wonder if I can beat Ser Alliser in a duel…possibly?_ Jaime raised his sword, ready to gut whatever men came at him. His heart was pulsing into his throat every second. As afraid as he felt, part of him felt alive. _The thrill of battle._ But for once, he was more afraid. The fight between Jaime and whoever was entering the throne room could end up being three on one, or even four on one.

But when he saw the gold and red lion standard, he almost cheered with relief.

They were a medium sized group of Lannister soldiers, about forty or fifty strong. They were led by two men on horses, which, on the left was Ser Elys Westerling, and on the right, Lord Roland Crakehall. He only barely recognized the Westerling, but he knew the Crakehall rather well. Jaime had squired for his father Sumner Crakehall for four years, and saved his life during the engagement with the Kingswood Brotherhood. But this Roland was representing House Crakehall now, as Lord Sumner had died in his sleep in the years past. Lord Crakehall's horse stopped, about ten feet from where Jaime stood, along with Aerys' corpse and the Iron Throne.

"Ser Jaime! A thrill to see a familiar face! I can see the Mad King's bloody reign is over," Lord Crakehall said happily, gesturing to the body.

The battle for King's Landing he had just been fighting minutes before didn't seem to faze him in the least. Jaime could do was nod slightly. _I feel like a boy caught with some tavern slut. Or a cornered stag about to be butchered by starving hunters. Except I've cut my king's throat, from ear to ear._ "Yes…" it was all Jaime could muster, "The king is no longer with us," he said as confidently and smoothly as he could.

"By your hand, I take it?" Lord Crakehall was eyeing the still fresh blood on Jaime's sword. Jaime also saw some of the blood was stained on his white cloak.

"By my hand, yes." Jaime said loudly, so everyone in the room could hear. It was obvious what he'd done, might as well own up to it. _It's not like my own bannermen will kill me for oathbreaking._ He wondered how guilty he sounded, if at all.

"Hmm," responded Lord Crakehall, pondering the situation for a moment. Jaime tried to study all the faces in the room, no one seemed to quite disapprove of his actions, at least outwardly. _Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would._ Crakehall continued:

"Should a new king be proclaimed? It could be your father or Robert Baratheon…or even a new dragon king."

There was a pause.

Jaime was stunned. Blindsided. The future of the realm hung in the balance, and Roland Crakehall was asking _him_ to make a decision which essentially decided the next many years of the Seven Kingdoms. _Well, you have always wanted your companions at court to not treat you like a child. I guess this is what growing up means. As for a king, it should technically go to Prince Aegon since Rhaegar was Aerys' firstborn. Or could it be Prince Viserys, he's a few years older._ As Jaime mulled over the rules of succession, he realized a truth. A hard truth.

 _Every Targaryen weds brother to sister, and has Aerys' blood. It causes the madness which got us into this entire mess in the first place. The Targaryen line should end here, and now, forever. Yet…I'm a Kingsguard, what does my opinion matter? It's all the same, at the end of everything._

"Whichever you like, it's all the same to me," Jaime said finally.

Lord Crakehall, the Westerling, and many soldiers guffawed at Jaime's bluntness. Jaime thought that was it, and they'd leave him alone. But Crakehall asked another damned question. _He's my father's bannerman, of course he asks for your advice, even if you don't want to give it. It's part of being the superior._

"And what of the loyalists to the crown?"

 _Oh, right._ Jaime searched his head, and pulled something out, something sweet but fair.

"Tell all that are still fighting that the king is dead. Spare anyone who yields." His voice was loud and firm. Jaime was surprised at how... _lordly_ he sounded.

"Fair enough," responded Lord Crakehall, clearly giving approval. He turned back for a moment, barking orders to some soldiers. Jaime then found himself staring at the Iron Throne. _Why not sit on it…wait for whoever claims it? It's likely the only time in my life I'll have such an opportunity._ Before he could even decide a proper course of action, Jaime found himself almost subconsciously climbing the steps. _I'm the highest born man in the room, I don't see why not._ And then he sat down, as lightly as possible. _The last thing I want is a three-hundred-year old sword up my arse._ "Uncomfortable as they say it is?" Ser Elys called with a hearty laugh, his voice echoing off the walls.

The thing definitely was spiky on his rear, but the armor and cloak made a decent but hard cushion. It was the arm rests you had to be especially careful of, razor sharp spikes coming out at random. _No wonder Aerys was constantly cutting himself on the thing._ "Quite so," responded Jaime.

Jaime leaned back a bit in the chair, trying to get at least somewhat comfortable. The Lannister soldiers dawdled and chatted amongst themselves, recounting their day of war. Many were gawking at King Aerys' dead body, and sooner or later they were squabbling over who could keep the dragon crown. _Destroy the damn thing, and every memory of Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name._

Jaime wasn't sure what to do at this point, so he fell into daydreaming, like he often did while King Aerys kept court. It was all he could do to keep his mind off of the increasingly horrible atrocities that were committed right in front of him, as the months passed. _Father_ _won't mind the fact I killed him. "You did your duty as a Lannister." Huh, I can already hear his voice._ All of a sudden, something struck Jaime.

 _The pyromancers still live._

Although Aerys wasn't alive to give the orders, the pyromancers knew the exact locations of the wildfire throughout King's Landing. _I can see it, those damned fools, igniting the city just because. Those alchemists, they get as alert as Aerys when the green flames lick the air. I need to track them down…and that information will die with them._ Jaime found his daydreaming turning into a day nightmare.

Roland Crakehall's deep voice shook him awake.

"Did you hear that, Ser Jaime?"

"What is it?"

"They say your father has sent the Mountain and Ser Amory to… _deal_ with the royal family," said Crakehall.

"Interesting," Jaime responded cooly, unsure of what else to say.

It gave him a chill just to think about it. _I wonder if they'll rape or murder Princess Elia first. And what of the children?_ Neither man was known for being the least bit merciful. But it was war. Prince Rhaegar's wife and children were of the enemy, and would be treated as such, no matter what.

"And what of the queen and Prince Viserys? There have been conflicting reports about their whereabouts," inquired Lord Crakehall.

As a Kingsguard, it was charged to Jaime to keep all the king's secrets. _I guess I'll be breaking another vow._

"Spirited away to Dragonstone as soon as the king heard of Rhaegar's defeat."

"How long ago was this?"

"About a fortnight ago, a fortnight and a few days, maybe."

Crakehall nodded and called for a messenger, likely to relay the information to Jaime's lord father. _The hard part is over, it should be a pie's cut to storm Dragonstone compared to sacking an entire city, plus with rebel support._ Robert Baratheon's vanguard was supposed to be headed for King's Landing from the Trident, and was expected to arrive in only a matter of hours, if not days. _I wonder what would have happened if Robert arrived first. I wonder if I'd still be alive. Thank the gods my father arrived first._ Jaime would sit the Iron Throne for almost an hour, waiting patiently. _Whoever wants to claim it, it's all theirs,_ Jaime thought as the seat became increasingly uncomfortable.

Just as Jaime considered getting up, the doors to the Great Hall flew open, and all the activity in the room ceased. Revealed was a lone man carrying the standard of House Stark, the grey direwolf's head on a white field, flapping in a light ocean breeze. "Presenting Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, along with the vanguard of Robert of the House Baratheon."

 _Oh, this will be quite the scene._


	4. Part IV

The lower born soldiers strolled in first, filing in a neat line into the throne room. The Lannister soldiers moved back as the newcomers took up more space. The happy and jubilant mood which had been present moments ago had seeped away faster than a summer storm, now replaced with a tense silence. Northmen and westermen had never been that fond of one another. Jaime saw a number of house sigils displayed amongst the soldiers, such as the white sun of Karstark and the flayed man of Bolton. There was also a large collection of stags. _Where is the great stag himself, however?_ _I'd expect a man like that to have a loud and happy entry._

After what seemed like an eternity, Eddard, or Ned, Stark finally rode in, but still no Robert. He had chosen a dark brown stallion as his mount, which matched the color of his hair. Jaime leaned back on the throne. _Just…relax. Be calm and patient, and there will be no bloodshed._ Ned Stark had the long face and grey eyes of his father. _The Stark who screamed and yelled as he burned alive right in front of you._ _And the way his eyes met mine. He was too honorable to say something, but I could see it in his eyes. He was silently begging me to…to make it stop._ Lord Stark stopped his horse and surveyed the room, seeming to make sure all of his men were in order. He looked down at Aerys' dead body, now showing the first signs of rotting, and crinkled his nose slightly at the then, he looked to Jaime, his grey eyes looking…disgusted. Revolted.

 _This man has barely even laid eyes on me, and he judges me as a criminal._ Eddard spoke:

"Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Lord Stark."

"I have come to claim the throne for Robert Baratheon," Ned Stark said in that sort of commanding, lordly voice. "As of now, he is the rightful king."

"I could not agree more, my lord," Jaime managed a smile. "Our last one…wasn't so good at his job."

A handful of men, mostly Lannisters, snickered. However, Ned was stone faced. His grey eyes gave nothing away, or so he thought. _Northmen and their damned honor._ Ned spoke again.

"They say you slew the king. One of his own Kingsguard." Ned's voice was as cool and empty as the north probably was. Unlike Lord Crakehall, he wasn't leaning toward the sense of good impression.

"That I did," Jaime said, now sounding almost proud. "I've helped you end your war."

"Helped," Ned spat, his voice now as cold as a gust of wind from beyond the Wall. "Your dishonor yourself, and your kingdom."

"Dishonor? King Aerys dishonored his kingdom by burning people alive. And for that, he _deserved_ to have his throat cut open." _It's not often I've been so certain about something._

"Not by his own Kingsguard, Ser. The only thing you deserve is the Wall for such treachery… _Kingslayer."_

Inside, Jaime felt himself flinch. _I'll have his head, that bastard. This Quiet Wolf dares to smear the lion's honor where everyone can see. Kingslayer…_ it stung. It really did. It was not often when Jaime's ego was struck so deep, but here, he could feel it in bones. Ned seemed to be staring straight into Jaime's soul as he spoke again.

"Your time on the Iron Throne is over, Ser Jaime. I will retain the seat until Lord Robert is with us." Ned turned back to the northmen. "The lions have desecrated this sacred place in more ways than one."

"Besides killing my king?" Jaime said with almost a laugh. _I must sound like an ass, but I don't care. This man acts so high and mighty._

"Explain the bodies of a defenseless woman and two children in Maegor's Holdfast, Ser," Ned responded. "Explain the lion standard flying over the Red Keep, explain the _sacking of the city._ " He was almost seething with anger.

 _Elia, Rhaenys, and baby Aegon. It seems my father's men got to them first._

A voice from behind Jaime barked back. "The dragon heirs had to be eliminated. For the greater good. This is the way of war, Lord Stark," it seemed Ser Elys Westerling had returned.

"A war _crime_. The little girl was butchered like meat."

The Westerling chuckled. "This green boy – "

That slight suddenly got many northerners shouting. "That green boy helped win the war you refused to fight!"

"He fought while Lord Tywin cowered under the Rock!"

That, in turn, enraged the westerners. "Because Ser Jaime was a _hostage!"_

"Tywin Lannister strategized better than your frozen heads ever could!"

"SILENCE!" Jaime shouted, his voice as quick and sharp as Valyrian steel. He'd never been a yeller. However, it was necessary to do if the wolves and the lions wouldn't resort too slaughtering each other over meaningless discourse. _Thank the gods my voice didn't crack._ But then…something else.

 _The wildfire._

 _Lord Stark doesn't know. Nobody knows, most likely, that their sitting on a sea of green which if aflame could burn us all. Just like Aerys' last words. Burn them all._

Jaime was still reeling from the Kingslayer insult. _Why not tell this honorable Ned Stark of the truth? Why you slaughtered your king? But that would be violating another one of my oaths, the Stark is sure to call you out for that._

 _It's not like you don't have the proof._

Jaime found himself speaking again, despite not fully thinking it through. _Always improvising._ The extremely tense silence in the room was broken.

"Would you men…," Jaime began, addressing not just Ned Stark but every soldier in the room. _Everyone must be a witness, for what I'm about to reveal._ "…like to know Aerys' last words?"

"Might as well," somebody said.

"A dying man's tongue isn't a reliable one," said another man, who was on a horse near Lord Stark. He was big and burly, and looked like he'd make his horse buckle, and had the white merman attached to his saddle. _None other than the graceful Lord Manderly._

"Burn them all, Aerys said. Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds, burn them all." Jaime's voice was empty again, as empty as it had been when he'd murdered the Hand of the King and the King himself.

"The words of a madman," an unnamed northern horseman said. "What of it?" _Some lord, probably._

"Yes, a madman. But this madman…had a plan."

"A plan?" Ned Stark inquired. _He may take me seriously now._

"Around the time the Battle of the Bells was said and done, King Aerys had…wildfire placed all throughout King's Landing. Under the markets, brothels, the Sept…and even the Red Keep. He thought by burning this city to the ground and killing everyone in it, he'd turn into a dragon, and burn all of his enemies."

Jaime's voice was clear, but far away and distant. He wanted to be anywhere, but this place, here and now. It was a terrible truth, of what Aerys planned to do. _But I stopped it. And now it's now up to the gods to see whether these men believe me._ The intensity of the next few moments was paralyzing. A few men mumbled to each other. "Does he tell the truth?" Jaime heard someone say. As was fitting, Ned Stark was the first to respond.

"Why should I trust the word of a Kingslayer?" He was more stone cold than most men were. _Time to make him angry._

"Would you like me to _show_ you, Lord Stark?" Jaime snapped.

In that instance, all of the eyes in the room went to Ned. And for the first time, Jaime saw _him_ flinch. He looked down for a moment. _The wolf tries to compose himself._

"Yes," Ned Stark finally said. "I would like to see."

Lord Manderly, or the fat horseman next to Ned whispered something Jaime couldn't hear. Something about being alone. Ned's grey eyes looked back to Jaime, as cool as the snow. "With Northmen, stormmen, and westermen alike. We will bear witness to the truth of your words."

"Good," Jaime responded. He stood up for the first time in hours, stretching. "To the tunnels."

"Ser Jaime," said Ser Elys Westerling. "You musn't go alone with these strange men."

"It's not like the honorable Ned Stark will take my life," Jaime responded, his voice ripe with sarcasm.

The scene suddenly flipped, as if Jaime could not remember what happened after he stood. _Strange._ He saw Lord Stark, strolling down a path outside the Red Keep. The men all walked in a silent tow. A variant of Northern lords, Stormlords, Ser Elys, Ned Stark, and Jaime himself. Ned Stark was not as loud or as fierce as his late brother, but he commanded his subjects' respect with near flawlessness. _Near. I'll show this "honorable" man for what he is, a smug liar. He will not dare to smear me again, or I'll put a blade in him just like Aerys._

Jaime was no expert on the tunnels under Maegor's, but he had an idea. _We need to be careful not to get lost_. But there was one of the doors, within a small alcove near the Holdfast's moat, which lead underground. One of Ned Stark's men lit a torch as they went down a stairway, to the first level of tunnels. The place was dank and murky. Jaime got the sudden feeling of being underwater, like he was choking. The world shook and spun for a second. _What…_

"Are you alright, Ser?" One of the stormlords asked as he adjusted the torch. His armor was blazoned with the maelstrom of House Wylde. _Something…is wrong._

The torchlight was all that was needed.

The things were stacked in barrels three high by however many long. They leaked the green liquid of death. And the barrels, they seemed to go on forever, down the tunnel. _The smell._ It smelled like something was about to burn. Like something had been lit.

"You ass, put the damn torch out!" Ser Elys practically yelled to one of the men. His voice was the pinnacle of how dangerous and serious the situation was.

 _One spark, and we all die._

Ned Stark and the others slowly walked forward. For the first time, Ned showed emotion. _Shock, fear…remorse._ They all just stared, at the terrible sight. _What could have been if Aerys had what he wanted? Thousands dead, and Robert Baratheon ruling ashes._

Suddenly, Jaime was back in the throne room, hearing Aerys scream and holler…

" _Let Robert be the king of charred bones and cooked meat!"_

"Ser Jaime," Ned Stark had turned to him. _For once, the wolf is at a loss of words._ "I – "

All of a sudden, Lord Wylde eyes widened. "Who goes there?!" He roared as he drew his sword.

"A friend." A voice. Not one, but two men stepped into the torchlight. They were dressed in the brown clothlike clothes of commoners. One of them held a candle. They wore a standard of some kind, a patch on the chest. A green flame. _Rossart's standard._

 _The other pyromancers._

 _But how…?_

 _You forgot them._

Jaime's world fell apart around him. The men were now yelling. Ned was saying something, trying to persuade them. _You cannot stop the inevitable._ Jaime had gone deaf, entranced in his thoughts once more. _So this is how it ends, all because you wanted to salvage your honor. Your honor, against human life. You sat on the Iron Throne and defended your pride while they slithered behind your back. You were not quick enough. You failed yourself, and your family._

 _You failed Cersei._

 _I was to die in my sister's arms. But I die in the presence of strangers, by burning alive._

The candle was now flying, to some puddle of wildfire. It would fall on one of the many green puddles.

For a moment, Jaime's world went bright green.

And then it went black.


End file.
